


Even the Truth Has Teeth

by LostBerryQueen



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:07:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27275440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostBerryQueen/pseuds/LostBerryQueen
Summary: His Dark Materials where *everything* is the same except Lyra knows the truth about her parents from the beginning.*well maybe not everything
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> eleniap and Rhaized showed interest in this idea as part of a WIP meme on tumblr. I wrote this a while back and was not planning on continuing so I really can't make any promises about this ever getting finished, but it might??

Lyra sat across the round table from Mrs. Coulter, who was sipping chocolatl and speaking in her gentle, soothingly familiar musical voice. Lyra had long since stopped listening to what her mother was saying, and took comfort in her presence. 

Pan was an anxious butterfly, looking out the window. He turned to whisper in Lyra’s ear. “Your father, I saw him headed to the Retiring Room.” 

Lyra felt a jolt of alertness and hoped that Mrs. Coulter hadn’t noticed. She leaned forward and grabbed her own mug, taking a long gulp, and furrowing her brow when she heard Mrs. Lonsdale’s voice in her mind, scolding her. She always had to wear her best dress when her mother visited, which was about twice a year, and Mrs. Lonsdale would curl her hair and coach her on how to speak and be polite. ‘And don’t you dare let her see you on the roof.’ It had taken Lyra a while to realize that Mrs. Lonsdale was afraid of her mother. Lyra didn’t dwell on the thought. She wasn’t afraid of Mrs. Coulter, though she made Pan nervous, and Lyra did have to admit that the dirty looks the golden monkey would give her ever so often were unsettling. 

“What is it, darling?” Mrs. Coulter said. 

“I just remembered—the book the librarian gave me for my—recently. It had something about ice bears in it, that I think was wrong. I wanted to show it to you and see if you knew what it should really say.” 

Mrs. Coulter nodded. “Well, I can’t say that I know everything there is to know about ice bears, but I’ll do my best to help you, Lyra.” 

Lyra stood and forced herself not to run from the room. As soon as the door was closed, she scampered down the hall, into another room, and out a window. She felt guilty for deceiving her gentle mother, but the guilt seemed to move around and away from her like the air as she ran across the roof, and toward the Retiring Room. 

Lyra loved spying on the Retiring Room, and learning about all sorts of things which were forbidden and she didn’t fully understand. When her father was visiting it was even more important to be watching, because he didn’t stay for long and she might not see him otherwise. 

She arrived in time to see the master putting powder in the Tokay. Pan winced as she jumped through the window, always more cautious and anticipating then she was. It was a good thing that she acted before she thought, or else her father would have drunk the poison. The relief of the glass shattering was short lived as Lyra felt herself flung around violently, her head slammed into the table, her arm twisted back. 

“Let go of me!” 

“I will break your arm first!” 

“What’s going on in here?” That familiar, gentle, musical voice. 

“Marisa.” 

Lyra was flung down roughly and found herself on the floor. She groaned and tried to work the soreness out of her arm and neck. 

“You realize women are not allowed—” 

“Really, Asriel, you of all people should not be enforcing the rules. Besides, I think that hardly applies to family reunions. And what have you been doing to your daughter?” She stepped around Asriel and knelt by Lyra’s side. Lyra wasn’t one to cry, but when that soft hand stroked her cheek, it coaxed tears forward. Lyra felt a part of herself crumble. Mrs. Coulter wrapped her in an embrace and Lyra sobbed into her. It wasn’t often that her mother held her. 

The golden monkey reached out a tentative finger towards Pan, and Pan sniffed at it politely. 

Mrs. Coulter rocked Lyra gently and shushed her. She looked up at Asriel with a trace of a grin. 

Asriel looked away. “She attacked me,” he muttered. Stelmaria growled at him then turned her large eyes to Mrs. Coulter. 

“You know how he gets when he’s been in the north too long,” Stelmaria said, a tad apologetically. 

“Lyra, darling, can you tell us what happened, please?” 

“I—yes,” Lyra sniffed. “I saw the master poison your wine. At least I think it was poison, it was powder.” 

Lord Asriel turned suddenly and slammed the Tokay into the ground. 

“Asriel!” Mrs. Coulter said, pulling Lyra to her feet and dragging her back from the broken glass. 

“It’s time for the two of you to go back to drinking tea,” Lord Asriel said, pacing the room, back to them. 

Mrs. Coulter made sure Lyra was steady on her feet before releasing her so she could confront her husband. “Asriel, you promised your research was not heretical!” 

“It’s none of your concern!” 

“You are putting the lives of your family—of your daughter! At risk. The Magisterium is not some bear you can play around with—” 

“And what would you have me do? Hide behind their lies like a coward—” 

Lyra’s eyes were wide as she watched her parents fight. She didn’t often see them interact at all. 

Mrs. Coulter rounded on Lyra suddenly. “Lyra, I want you to spy.” 

“Spy?” Lyra could hardly believe what she was hearing her mother say. 

“Yes, I need to know everything that goes on in this meeting tonight, can you do that for me?” 

“Absolutely not!” Lord Asriel said. 

Mrs. Coulter was already ushering Lyra towards the wardrobe. 

“It’s for the best,” she told him calmly. “She can keep an eye on the master as well, can’t you darling?” 

“Yes,” Lyra nodded. 

“I best be leaving, before I’m arrested for breaking the rules.” 

Lyra blushed and looked away as Mrs. Coulter kissed Lord Asriel briefly, and then she was gone. 

Asriel let out a long sigh, glancing towards the wardrobe and then looking away, back towards his research, towards the presentation that would soon be at hand. 

****** 

When Lyra woke she was in her father’s arms. There was nothing soft at all about them, and if it had been anyone else but him carrying her she would have squirmed in discomfort, gotten down and walked herself. But there was no one else who would be carrying her to bed at her age. The scholars loved her dearly, but they weren’t strong enough to lift the weight of a 12-year-old half-orphan, half-aristocrat. 

Her mother was leaning in the doorway of her small room, watching as Asriel lowered her into the bed. 

She let out a little gasp. “Asriel, you fool!” She rushed forward. “Here, flip the pillow around. You don’t want the dirt from her shoes getting on her face.” 

“Like she doesn’t already have dirt on her face,” Asriel said. 

Lyra sat up and grinned. “It’s okay, I put my shoes on the pillow all the time anyway.” 

Mrs. Coulter made a face and Lyra’s eyes glittered with unshed laughter. 

“Now you’re awake,” Asriel said. 

“I was awake the whole time,” Lyra said. 

Mrs. Coulter reached forward to smooth down the hair that was sticking up from Lyra’s head. 

“Well, most of the time at least,” Lyra glanced at her mother apologetically. “I did fall asleep towards the end.” 

“What’s Dust?” Lyra said. 

Her parents fell still. 

“Lyra, darling, I think it would be best if your father and I talk for a moment, we’ll be back soon.” 

By that, Lyra knew that she meant that she would be back soon. Her father would be upset and she wouldn’t see him for another year or so. 

Lyra cursed her curiosity. She wished she could have let the perfect moment with her parents last longer. Lord Asriel ruffled her hair that her mother had just smoothed down, and looked at her with the closest thing that his face came to a smile. She knew it was his way of saying goodbye, his apology. 

Then she sank down into her bed and drew the thin blanket up to her chin as she watched her parents leave. Pan jumped up onto her shoulder and snuggled close to her neck. “It’s okay, Lyra,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault.” Lyra stroked his fur and tried to believe him. 

The room had grown uncomfortably cold by the time her mother returned, but somehow she had managed to get two cups of chocolatl. Lyra took the mug eagerly. 

Mrs. Coulter and her drank in silence for a while. Her mother was never one to rush. 

“Lyra, there is a great change coming. You and I both know that your father is not someone to be stopped. What you might not know, is neither am I.” 

Something harder came into her mother's features and Lyra watched with fascination—it was like seeing a sandy beach turn to stone. 

“Up until this point Jorden College has always been the safest place for you—you've been protected by Scholastic Sanctuary. I think you’ve had a good childhood here. I don’t know that you’ve learned quite as much as you would have at a boarding school, though I know you learned quite a bit about the layout of the rooftops.” 

Mrs. Coulter winked and Lyra felt completely exposed, and almost betrayed. Her mother had never let on before that she knew about that. 

Mrs. Coulter continued with a trace of a smile. “Lyra, your carefree days are coming to a close. And I have to ask you something.” Mrs. Coulter let out a sigh. “Lyra, will you come and live with me? I really think it would be the best thing...for both of us.” 

Lyra felt as though she were being hit with a bucket of cold water. She had never expected such a bizarre statement to come from her mother, who was all superficial comfort, chocolatl and a musical, meaningless voice. Lyra almost said yes automatically. Then, like a drowning person remembering the only companion that might save them, a different word came to her lips. “Roger,” she said. “What about him?” 

“Who?” Mrs. Coulter said. “Oh yes, the kitchen boy. I’ll give you time to say goodbye to him tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“You know I can’t stay long, Lyra.” Mrs. Coulter began to stand. 

“Please,” Lyra said, knowing once her mother left the room she would be trapped. “Can he come too? He’s a—he's like me. He's like my brother,” Lyra chose her words carefully. “He won’t be a bother though, he can cook and clean, he doesn’t have to, well—please?” 

Mrs. Coulter’s face was entirely unreadable. “Fine, he can come.” 

Lyra, acting for the second time that day without thinking, launched herself into her mother’s arms. Her mother laughed, catching her and hugging her back. 


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Coulter sat across from her in the zeppelin, looking through papers. Lyra stared out the window, trying to keep the sting in her eyes down. She hoped her mother was too engrossed in her work to notice. 

“I’m not going with you.” Those quiet words, such a harsh blow, worse than the time she slipped once and fell sideways on the roof. “Jordan College is my home.” 

It was Lyra’s home too. 

“You have to promise to visit me,” Roger continued. 

Lyra had nodded. Unable to say anything else, she had scampered away. The Master had found her hiding in the Retiring Room, wrapped in the scholar robes she had slept in while watching her father give his presentation. Lyra was only glad it hadn’t been Mrs. Lonsdale who had found her. 

She was embarrassed to have shed tears into his soft velvet robes. 

“Come child,” The Master said kindly. “You have much ahead to look forward to.” 

The Master walked with Lyra to where Mrs. Coulter was waiting outside, the sunlight streaming around her like a dutiful servant keeping her warm. 

“All set?” Mrs. Coulter asked. 

“She was just saying some last-minute goodbyes,” The Master said. 

“Where’s Roger?” 

Lyra shook her head, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. 

“Well, I’m sure you can visit, hmm?” Mrs. Coulter tapped her chin. 

“That’s what he said.” Lyra shrugged. 

Pan’s mood improved as the scenery changed and he became distracted from their friend’s betrayal. “Look Lyra! That’s the London wheel.” 

Mrs. Coulter looked up from her papers and smiled. “There’s lots to see in London, Lyra. Don’t worry, you won’t regret your choice.” 

“Roger might regret his choice.” 

Mrs. Coulter studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “Change can be hard, Lyra, but when you move away from what isn’t working, there’s plenty more space for what will.” 

Lyra was silent as Mrs. Coulter showed her around the flat. It took all of her concentration to keep the emotions rising and falling inside of her from reaching her eyes. When Lyra was led to the room that was now hers—the room large enough to swallow the room she had called home her entire life—she pretended to be delighted and flopped onto the bed, burying her head in the pillows and silently releasing the tears. 

Lyra tried her best to keep a cheerful façade in place. She pretended to be delighted by all the food on the table she had never tried before at meals, she pretended to love the Arctic Institute, to be impressed by the armored bear skull. All the while her stomach was sour with the desire to return to Jordan, to the roofs and the fresh air and her loyal (or at least she had thought he was) servant. 

“Maybe if you pretend long enough, you’ll convince yourself it’s true,” Pan joked. He rolled out of the way and turned into a bird to dodge the pillow Lyra aimed at him. He was in a genuinely good mood, which annoyed Lyra. He didn’t dare say it, but she knew what he was thinking. That it was right that they were here. That they were _finally_ here, as if this had been something they had been waiting for. 

Lyra dreamed that her room flooded, water pouring in through the windows and door, filling it up entirely. She opened her mouth to push the water out from inside of her, but her scream couldn’t break the current. 

Lyra sat up in bed panting and hugging her knees. Light streamed into the room as the door opened and Mrs. Coulter entered with a pistol. Lyra shrank back at the sight, the way her mother’s body was so unnaturally hard and focused almost more terrifying than the weapon. 

Upon realizing the room was empty of intruders, Mrs. Coulter rushed to her daughter’s side. The golden monkey went to the window, checking to see that it was locked just in case. 

“Lyra? What happened?” 

“Nothing.” 

Mrs. Coulter stroked Lyra’s face and the girl flinched. 

“I heard screams.” 

Pan was wrapped around Lyra’s neck as a garter snake. “Oh-Oh.” 

“Did you have a nightmare?” 

Lyra nodded. 

Mrs. Coulter sighed and left to put the gun away. 

The room felt colder than ever before and Lyra shivered. She didn’t know her mother knew how to use a gun. It wasn’t something that would have surprised her if Lord Asriel had been holding it—but the sight of it in Mrs. Coulter’s hands…was the beginning of Lyra’s slow rise to the surface, slow realization that she had underestimated how little she knew about her parents. 

Mrs. Coulter returned with a soothing smile, as if she were an entirely different person than the one who had entered the room before. As if she had gone backstage to switch places with her double. 

“Come with me.” 

Lyra took Mrs. Coulter’s hand and followed her through the hallway, smooth and cold beneath her bare feet. Mrs. Coulter turned on the anarbic fireplace. There were no anarbic fireplaces in Jordan. Things there burned real and laboriously. 

Lyra found herself on the couch with her head in Mrs. Coulter’s lap. Lyra stared into the flames, amazed at how cold she still felt, even surrounded by so much artificial warmth. Mrs. Coulter stroked her hair and face. 

“Tell me about the dream.” 

Lyra said nothing for a while, the motion of her mother’s fingers becoming waves on her cheek. 

“There was water everywhere.” 

Mrs. Coulter stopped and Lyra felt her take in a breath. The golden monkey was watching Pan closely from his perch on the armrest, but Pan was as far away from him as possible, hovering above them as a moth. 

“I was…drowning.” Lyra’s voice broke into a whisper on the last word. 

“You know when you were a baby there was a Great Flood,” Mrs. Coulter said. “It swept you right out of the nunnery where the law placed you, and back into Lord Asriel’s hands.” 

Lyra could hear the pride in Mrs. Coulter’s voice when she spoke her father’s name. It shined like gold forming out of nothing in the air. 

“You were destined to spend your early years at Jordan, just like you were destined to come here. There’s something else that the flood brought you, and I think you’re ready to see it. But you have to promise to keep it a secret.” 

Lyra sat up, finally looking into her mother’s eyes which were dancing with the light from the fake fireplace. “I promise.” 

Mrs. Coulter smiled. 

Pan tentatively lowered down onto Lyra’s shoulder. 

Lyra followed Mrs. Coulter into her office, a door that had always been locked until now. Mrs. Coulter unlocked her lower desk drawer, and a safe box within it. 

Mrs. Coulter led her back to the living room, and Lyra sat close to her, watching attentively as her mother unwrapped the velvet cloth. Pan perched on her shoulder as an ermine. 

Lyra gasped as the gold came into view, and Mrs. Coulter laughed softly. Mrs. Coulter opened it and Lyra instinctively ran her finger along the intricate patterns, the symbols. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s an alethiometer, and it’s yours. It kept you safe as a baby, and maybe it can keep you safe from bad dreams now.” 

Lyra took it into her hands and Pan became a magpie and hopped closer, peering at the alethiometer. 

“What does it do?” 

“It protects destiny. It’s blessed by the Authority himself. But it’s very powerful, and you must keep it a secret.” 

Lyra nodded. She leaned into her mother’s side and for the first time since she set foot in the flat, she felt bright and full of future. 


	3. Chapter 3

Eventually, Mrs. Coulter realized that Lyra didn’t know how to wash her hair. Lyra sat quietly in the tub with her mother’s hands gently massaging soap into dark strands. 

Lyra had never felt awkward when Mrs. Lonsdale bathed her. Everything had been a fight, or a challenge to not react to the pain and discomfort. Under her mother’s gaze, however, she felt acutely aware of herself, in a way she wasn’t used to. 

“I think I should curl your hair, Lyra. Wouldn’t that look nice?” 

Lyra shrugged. “Dunno.” She flinched involuntarily, expecting to be slapped for the slang, like Mrs. Lonsdale would, but no blow came. 

“I think it would,” Pan said, padding closer to Mrs. Coulter on the rim of the tub. 

Mrs. Coulter laughed. “Well, we do want to make sure Lyra’s comfortable with it as well.” 

“She is, but she won’t admit she cares about her appearance.” 

“Shut up, Pan!” Lyra said, losing her temper and accidentally splashing water out of the tub. 

The golden monkey made a low grunting noise, that almost sounded like a growl. 

“Sorry,” Lyra mumbled, sinking lower into the water. 

Lyra sat in bed morosely with damp hair as Pan circled around her head, climbing from shoulder to shoulder and back again. He was much too energetic for Lyra’s taste. 

“You know, you could just admit that you like it here,” Pan said finally. 

“I don’t!” Lyra said. “And we’re not staying anyway. As soon as we get the chance, it’s back to Jordan.” 

“The Master won’t let you come back, he’d just return you here.” 

“He wouldn’t, he’d never find me. I’d cover myself in dirt and hide in the streets.” 

“But what about the alethiometer? Someone would steal it.” 

Lyra pulled it out from under her pillow. “I’d sell it. It’s clearly bad luck anyway.” 

Lyra opened it and gazed at its details in wonder. There was something magnetic about it, like if she stared long enough she’d be pulled inside, or she’d never be able to move her eyes away. “’It protects destiny!’ What does that even mean, Pan?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Lyra played with one of the dials along the edge. “It’s like a clock.” 

Mrs. Coulter opened the door and Lyra quickly slid the alethiometer under her pillow. She didn’t want to be seen taking an embarrassing interest in what was clearly a child’s fancy toy. 

Mrs. Coulter possessed the angelic ability of moving quietly, Lyra could never hear her coming like she could Mrs. Lonsdale stampeding through the corridors. She would have to learn to sense it instead. 

Mrs. Coulter smiled. “Still have the alethiometer? It will keep bad dreams away.” 

Lyra nodded. 

Mrs. Coulter sighed, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Lyra, I know you don’t like it here. One day when you’re older, you’ll understand why this was necessary.” 

“Why can’t I go back to Jordan? It’s my _home._ ” 

“Lyra, do you really hate your mother so much that you can’t stand to spend a little time with me?” 

“No, I just miss Jordan.” Lyra mumbled. 

“You’re too old to be running around on those roofs,” Mrs. Coulter said sternly. “And we could only ask the scholars to put up with you for so long.” 

“I could work in the kitchens...like Roger.” 

“The daughter of Lord Asriel, reduced to nothing more than a servant?” 

Lyra looked up and felt her mother’s rising anger, watching it with a certain amount of intrigue. The Mrs. Coulter she knew never got angry. The golden monkey was completely calm, picking at the carpet with the trace of a smile. 

“She doesn’t really mean it,” Pan said quickly. “We like it here.” 

Mrs. Coulter brightened as if someone had told her an amusing joke. She gestured towards the pillow and Lyra reluctantly took out the alethiometer. 

Lyra watched as Mrs. Coulter spun the three dials, pointing each needle to a symbol. She closed her eyes and the golden monkey crept closer to her, hugging her leg. 

The fourth, thinner needle began to move, and Lyra gasped. 

Mrs. Coulter opened her eyes. “You see?” 

Lyra shook her head. 

Mrs. Coulter handed Lyra back the alethiometer. “You were meant to be here.” 

Lyra spent the next week trying to get the needle of the alethiometer to move like her mother had. She pestered Mrs. Coulter with questions about it, but she would only smile knowingly and give frustratingly cryptic answers. 

She was now sitting on the floor in the living room, the heat from the fake fireplace illuminating her annoyance. 

“Give it a rest,” Pan said. “You’re going to break it.” 

“Lyra,” Mrs. Coulter said sharply, heals clicking as she entered the living room. “I need you to go to your room and stay there. I have some guests arriving.” 

“No.” 

“Lyra, _now_.” 

“Tell me why it’s not working, tell me why—” 

Lyra yelped as the golden monkey grabbed Pan and started dragging him away from her. 

“No stop, what are you—” 

“Lyra, I told you to go to your room.” Mrs. Coulter’s voice was soft and sweet. 

The golden monkey dug his claws into Pan and Lyra felt pain spasm through her entire body like a heartbeat. The golden monkey let Pan go and Lyra scrambled to her feet, throwing a fearful glance over her shoulder before hurrying to her room. She tripped and fell on the hard smooth flooring before she reached her room, but she didn’t allow herself to pause, rising quickly and reaching her room, closing the door and leaning against it, sliding down to the carpet. 

Her entire body ached and her chin throbbed. Pan became a kitten and flattened his ears, hissing and meowling pitifully as he crawled into her lap. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she told him, stroking his soft fur. 

Lyra dozed off leaning against the door, waking with a start as she felt it move. She scrambled backwards, Pan becoming a crow to swoop out of the way and then hovering at her shoulder as a hummingbird. 

Mrs. Coulter entered, radiating charm and softness. “Lyra, darling what are you—and what happened to your face?” 

The golden monkey entered the room and seated himself serenely on the carpet, intense eyes trained on them. 

Pan dived into Lyra’s arms and became a rabbit. Lyra hugged him to her chest. 

Mrs. Coulter bent and took Lyra’s chin in her hands. Lyra held her breath and willed herself to stay still as Mrs. Coulter examined her injury, but she flinched when Mrs. Coulter ran her thumb over the wound. 

“We’ll just have to hope that heals in time for the party.” 

Mrs. Coulter stood to her full height, folding her arms and looking down at Lyra sternly. “When I tell you to do something, I expect to be obeyed. You’re clearly not responsible enough for this.” 

Mrs. Coulter snatched the alethiometer, and Lyra let out a wounded gasp. The golden monkey moved closer to them, and Lyra clamped her mouth shut, but glared at Mrs. Coulter with all of her strength. 

“Lyra, you’re a young lady, not a wild animal. When you prove that, you can have this back.” 

Pan became a bobcat and snarled; then ducked behind Lyra’s back to hide. 


	4. Chapter 4

Pan’s mood dampened after the incident with the golden monkey and the alethiometer. Lyra tried to convince him it was normal, after all Mrs. Lonsdale hit them all the time. Pan said it was different. Something about it was too personal. 

“Well she _is_ our mother,” Lyra said. “Technically.” 

Lyra didn’t want to admit to him the anxiety that she now felt around Mrs. Coulter, when she made a certain expression, when the golden monkey got too close. She just wanted Pan to forget the whole thing. 

Mrs. Coulter took Lyra to a play about explorers in the north, which was a nice distraction from the rising tension in the house. Lyra was captivated by the scene onstage, while Pan was delighted to see other children in the audience. He became a silver parrot and threw popcorn at their heads until the golden monkey leaped into the air and pulled him back down to the ground, knocking the wind out of Lyra. 

Lyra squirmed in her chair as the golden monkey returned to Mrs. Coulter’s lap, holding Pan firmly. Pan became a mouse and tried to escape, but Mrs. Coulter stopped him by gently cupping her hand over his body, shocking them both with the foreign sensation. Mrs. Coulter pet him until they both settled. 

“I felt like I was suffocating,” Pan told Lyra later. “And she smelled like metal.” 

“Pan, it’s normal. We’re just not used to it ‘cause our childhood was so different. And you shouldn’t have been throwing popcorn anyway.” 

Lyra’s chin _is_ healed in time for the party, and Lyra finds herself enjoying the preparations in spite of herself. It’s annoying to have to stand still for so long with the seamstresses all around her, but she likes the way the dress looks. Before the guests arrive she runs around the flat, double checking that all of the flowers are in place. 

“Lyra, walk,” Mrs. Coulter says but Lyra ignores her. If Mrs. Coulter did anything now it could dirty her dress, or scratch her face, and Mrs. Coulter wouldn’t want anything to stain her like that before the party. 

Pan enjoys flying high, out of reach of the golden monkey who chases after them and growls. 

Mrs. Coulter appears behind her—moving in that silent way—and grips her arm tightly. “Lyra, I need you to be on your best behavior,” she says softly “or things will become very unpleasant for you.” 

Lyra grimaces and nods. There’s a dangerous promise glittering in her mother’s eyes. 

Lyra carefully carries the drinks to the guests, and Mrs. Coulter gives her a small nod from across the room. Lyra realizes that she’s doing this for approval, more than for avoidance of whatever unpleasantries her mother had planned to use to quell her disobedience. Pan dropped to her shoulder and huddled against her neck. 

A beautiful woman with short curly hair gave Lyra a smile. Lyra smiled back genuinely; this was the first of her mother’s guests who felt truly warm. 

“Are you Mrs. Coulter’s apprentice?” Adèle Starminster asked. 

Lyra faltered. Had her mother not told people who she was? Lyra had never considered that her mother would be ashamed of her until now. “Yes,” Lyra said. 

“Do you have a moment to talk?” 

Lyra nodded, handing the nearly empty tray to a servant. An actual servant. 

They seated themselves outside, near the ledge. 

“Do you help Mrs. Coulter with her work?” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“And what do you think of it? Does it bother you to see the other children cut, being a child yourself?” 

“No, I—” 

“The intercision process. Have you seen it yourself?” 

“What’s intercision?” Pan asked before Lyra could stop him. 

“It’s what they do to them isn’t it, the children that are captured? Will Mrs. Coulter eventually use the procedure on you?” 

Lyra stood, feeling dizzy. “Sorry, I’ve got to...I’ve got to go.” 

Lyra made her way back to her room as quickly as she could with the walls tilting around her. It felt like a miracle when she finally got the door closed and was leaning against it, but then of course, not long afterwards, there was a knock. 

Lyra panicked, running to her bed and diving under the covers without even taking off her shoes. 

Lyra heard the door open, and buried her face in the pillow. 

“Lyra, is something wrong?” 

“I just, I’m just feeling sick.” Lyra’s voice was muffled slightly by the pillow. Pan huddled beside her under the blankets, breathing heavily. 

Mrs. Coulter made a sound of concern. She ran her hand through Lyra’s hair, and Lyra pressed her face into the pillow harder. 

“We’ll talk after everyone’s left. Do you want me to send in some soup?” 

“No.” Lyra said. 

“Alright darling, just call in a servant if you need anything.” 

“Yes, Mama.” 

Mrs. Coulter paused, then left. 

Lyra wasn’t sure what had compelled her to say that. Lyra sat up and quickly took her shoes off, pushing them under the bed. 

She cried into her pillow, doing her best to stop in time so that her face wouldn’t still be red when Mrs. Coulter came to talk to her. 

Unfortunately, she wasn’t successful. 

“Darling, what happened?” 

Mrs. Coulter handed her a mug of chocolatl and Lyra sat up to drink it gratefully. Mrs. Coulter wiped at Lyra’s face with a handkerchief. 

“There was someone telling lies about you,” Her voice was as small as Pan’s mouse form as he crept out from under the blankets. “And...” Lyra remembered one of the older kitchen boys tainting her, calling her a ‘bastard’ until she threw mud at him and it landed in the food he was preparing. “Are you ashamed ‘cause I’m a bastard?” 

Mrs. Coulter’s eyes hardened. “Of course not.” 

“Then why don’t people _know._ That I’m your daughter.” 

“People know. I know, you know,” Mrs. Coulter leaned towards her. “Lord Asriel knows.” 

“I mean real people!” 

“And what are we? Figments of your imagination?” 

The golden monkey hopped onto the bed and gathered Pan up before the daemon could escape. He started grooming Pan’s fur, and Lyra felt the agitation in his movements. 

“Lyra, shame is a powerful tool that the Magisterium wants to use against us. When I married your father they allowed it, but only on the condition that I kept my first husband’s last name—” 

“To show you remembered him.” 

“They wanted me to never forget the shame of what happened. But it makes me feel pride instead, because the one thing they’ll never be able to control is who I love. That’s you and your father.” 

“Mama, why do you work for them?” 

Mrs. Coulter flinched when Lyra used that title, and Lyra covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a grin. As uncomfortable as using the word made Lyra, she could see it gave her some valuable power over Mrs. Coulter. 

Pan nuzzled closer to the golden monkey, and Lyra felt her mother’s daemon relax. 

“Optimism only gets you so far in life, darling. Now, tell me about those lies. I’m always entertained to hear the gossip about me, I do have enemies, you know.” 

“She just said you were cutting kids, and that, and that you were gonna cut me. Inter-intercision.” 

The golden monkey dropped Pan to the bed and he scrambled back to Lyra’s side, winding around her neck as a ferret. 

“Those aren’t lies,” Mrs. Coulter said. “Intercision is real.” 

“You _cut_ kids?” 

“Of course not!” Mrs. Coulter laughed. “Intercision is a medical procedure, a very complicated one. But it’s only ever preformed for the patient's own good. Journalists will always twist truths into monstrosities, Lyra.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me about it before?” 

“I hardly thought you would be interested!” Mrs. Coulter’s laugh was musical. “I will be returning north soon to check on things, and if you’re really so curious you can come too, and see for yourself. Most children would find it quite boring—" 

“I want to come.” 


End file.
